Before The Time
by Insidiously
Summary: A change for me.. Amanda's life before her encounter with Jigsaw. Filling in the gaps. It'll be pretty dark, so..


I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing here to be absolutely honest, sitting in this dreary lobby waiting for my upcoming onslaught

**A/N #1: Hello! So, I'm just trying something new here. A story about our lovely Amanda. This is the first story I've written that hasn't stared Lawrence and Adam.. So it's kind of weird to write. Anyway, I have the whole plot for this lined out. So I'm pretty excited. It is obviously Amanda's POV, and will most likely go through the Saw movies. Yeah.. Anyway, it's going to be pretty freaking dark, note the 'M' rating, which should be… interesting.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Amanda in any way, shape or form. She belongs, rightfully to James and Leigh.**

I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing here to be absolutely honest, sitting in this dreary lobby waiting for my upcoming onslaught. The strange feelings that had captured my head in the past few days have been so alien, so unlike me, that I had just ran with it. Of course it never really occurred to me that I was high as a fucking kite at the time, but it made sense. I was running low on cash; what with all my income guzzlers (namely drugs, rent and drugs) I didn't have much extra money. It probably didn't help that I didn't have a job. Wouldn't you know it; employers weren't exactly keen on hiring junkies. Who would've thought it? So I guess it made sense that I walked down the street to the closest 'restaurant' - and I use that term loosely considering I'm not entirely sure that any food providing service on my street actually provided something edible on the menu - and demanded a job… when I was high. Not a good first impression to say the least, but by some miraculous chance I got a call the day after asking if I wanted an interview. I wasn't really sure how they acquired my number but no resume, no questions, just an interrogation… I could handle that. At any rate, whoever called me, some squeaky sounding girl who called herself Anita, must have been a fucking angel. She gave me three days to prepare.

And so I'm back to where I started, sitting in the faux-cheerful backroom of the dirty restaurant waiting for the sentencing to begin. It had been a long day; beginning with the one thing I hated most of all: a migraine. Not just any migraine either. It was a gut-wrenching, vomit-inducing, make-you-want-to-kill-yourself-headache. The one I get when ever I try to 'be a better person' and give it all up. The drugs, the sex, everything. I figured that this time when I met someone associated with my hopefully future workplace it would be better if I were sober and completely legible. Who knew how much damage control I would have to perform?

I rubbed my temple in what I hoped would be a soothing manor and exhaled slowly, feeling an involuntary twitch rush through my body. Oh God, I needed a fix. I knew I looked like hell, I used up almost all of my very little makeup attempting to make myself presentable but I knew the dark circles under my eyes were just as noticeable. They matched my tattered an ill-fitting gray skirt and blouse, the best and most presentable outfit I own. As much as I need a job, I really don't want to work here. What the fuck was I thinking?

I took a quick glance around the room and shuddered at the bright chipping paint staring back at me. The building itself was a foul place but the mismatched reject-colour paint was just the icing on the cake. Little pictures of revolting plates of food danced around acting as a boarder. It was as if I was in a crack house for the obese. The greasy images called out my name in a very un-appetizing way. Disgusting.

"Ms. Young?" An irritatingly perky voice interrupted my thoughts from behind. I turned around and met a short, slightly pudgy woman's judgmental gaze. With no sense of etiquette she slowly looked my up and down, her already huge smile widening fakely. I noticed her eyes lingering on each of my slightly torn sleeves and nervously pulled at the bottom hem of the jacket I was wearing. I noted with a small sense of satisfaction that this woman seemed to not want to be here, just like me. Graciously, she nodded me into the door she had just appeared from and it was only then that I realized her charcoal hair was pulled back into two honest-to-God pigtails. I almost died right there.

"Just this way…" She stammered and I realized that this was the girl whom I had talked to on the telephone. She was not how I pictured her at all; I had actually been picturing a female version of Ronald McDonald. Her hair swung in front of me, serving as a reminder of the seven year old's style she was sporting. Hm, maybe I wasn't that far off. Again Anita's voice pulsed in my ears: "Mr. Ingram will be right with you."

The girl promptly exited and I was once more left alone with my thoughts. The manager's office was only a little larger then a broom closet and defiantly not as nicely decorated. For one thing, the walls were littered with mysterious looking white and yellow stains and… oh joy, they were on the desk too. I moved around in the uncomfortable wooden stool I had been told to sit in and waited with what I hoped to be a patient look on my face instead of the nauseous one I was feeling. It caught me by surprise when a hard blow was delivered to my left shoulder.

"Amanda Young!" A loud voice boomed in my ears and I was instantly thrown to the side, once more to be surveyed. "Let me have a look at you!"

I stood in silence as this man surveyed my body and I his. He looked to be about 20,000 pounds. On the top of his head stood another out-of-date-hairstyle, a salt and pepper comb over stuck in place with what must have been three gallons of hair gel. At once he was pounding on my shoulder again.

"Well you're a pretty one, aren't you? Sit down, sit down." He enthusiastically plopped down unto his chair which strained at the weight. I scooped down and pulled up the stool that had fallen to the ground from all of the commotion from just a moment ago. I hadn't even realized I had been standing. Once more saw his eyes trace my body landing on my chest. I clutched my arms to my breasts and a small smirk covered his face. I instantly hated him.

"Now I hear you're in need of a job." He leaned forward and placed his chin in his hands.

I blinked a few times and understood that he was waiting for me to speak. Another tremor overtook my body and I prayed that he would contribute it to nerves: "Yes, Mr. Ingram. I would lov-"

"Call me Brandon." He chuckled. 'Brandon' still hadn't taken his eyes off of my chest.

"Brandon," I continued, "I would love to work here. It's been… awhile since I have worked and my pocket book is finally taking a toll." I giggled slightly but it sounded hollow even to my own ears. I clutched my arms together even tighter.

"Truth is Andrea…" he whispered, suddenly solemn. Andrea? "We don't really have that many positions available. As it is, we already have to other, er, applicants who I must say look very promising." He stopped for a moment to adjust his grease-stained tie. "But there are some things you can do to better your chances." The manager finally met my eyes. I stared at him puzzled, my brow furrowing in confusion. I nodded for him to continue, but he didn't. All he did was wink at me and re-direct his gaze to the zipper on my pants. Oh, fuck.

I felt the bile raise up my throat and I choked it down. Ws he fucking kidding me? It took everything for me not to scream right there. Instead, I let my temper break.

"Who the fuck do you think I am? What did you think I would do for a job at this shit-ass restaurant? I am so gone." I rushed out of the room half expecting him to follow me and when he didn't I ran even faster. Before long, I was at the entrance of the establishment. With one final fit of exasperation I turned around and let every foul word I could summon fly through the air, kicked the glass door hard enough that it shattered and stormed out. It wasn't until I had walked four blocks that I broke down. Climbing onto a city bench, I tucked my knees to my torso and began rocking myself back and forth. It took a few minutes but finally I began to calm down. It was then that I noticed my foot was bleeding.

"Oh, shit." I sighed as a pointed shard of glass glistened at me from the side of my sneaker. My foot ached, my head felt ten times worse then it had and my whole body longed for a hit. A hit of something hard.

**A/N #2: Like I said, it's different. Long too.. Meh, I guess I got into it. I'm really not expecting many reviews on this at all, but a few would be amazing. Thanks!**


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